


Like Falling in Slow Motion

by MoonFishy



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Daryl is emotionally constipated, Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, More tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 21:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonFishy/pseuds/MoonFishy
Summary: Looking back, Daryl can't quite pinpoint exactly when it began –reallybegan. Jesus just slipped into his life like there was a ready-made space for him, some cavity waiting to be filled.--------Daryl is oblivious. Paul is treading a bit too softly. Don't worry, something's got to give.





	Like Falling in Slow Motion

**Author's Note:**

> All you need to know is that I stopped watching the show around s07e08 - so I suppose this is technically AU?

  
Looking back, Daryl will never be able to pinpoint exactly when it began – really _began_. Not the first superficial moments of noticing (the colour of his eyes, the calmness of his voice, the steady intention behind his movements) or of wanting (which came much later), but the instance their relationship shifted into something deeper. Something like trust. Because Jesus slipped into his life like there was a ready-made space for him, some cavity waiting to be filled. He did it with such a light and knowing touch that it all but went unnoticed. The friendly attempts at small talk that Daryl easily brushed off became conversations, and then one day it occurred to him that Jesus’ hand had been resting against his arm for most of their morning chat.   
  
It was as gentle and unobtrusive as the rest of him, and not quite a question. Daryl didn’t brush it off - maybe that was when it started, with his small, implicit  _ yes _ .   
  
Or perhaps it started with the gifts; little things Paul picked up here and there – smokes, a paperback guide to foraging, cinnamon chewing gum, a knife made for whittling -  slipped into his backpack, or left outside his door, or on top of the hamper with his folded laundry. He thought, at first, that maybe it was Carol saying sorry for running off for so long. She’d laughed a little when he’d brought it up though, and said  _ I think Jesus was in charge of yesterday’s run. Maybe you should ask him. _   
  
That thought woke up something strange and alien in Daryl’s gut, so he hadn’t asked. He didn’t focus on the feeling much (because there was always something more important to do, he told himself) but he’d smoked his cigarettes, and slowly worked away at the gum, and flipped through the book, and when he’d look up, as often than not Jesus would be off across the room, watching. Not in an unsettling or predatory way, like the men at the clubs and bars he'd once ventured into during his youth. No, his gaze was as easy to bear as his hand on Daryl’s arm even without those layers of fabric to protect him, so Daryl had let him look.   
  
But it stirred that feeling right back up, so he still didn’t ask.    
  
Daryl kept the knife with him, though, even if it was small enough to be useless against all but the most decayed walkers. It was good for the boredom that came with his insomnia. He was usually the first to wake, with the exception of those on guard duty, and pre-dawn often found him at Alexandria’s makeshift barn. It was often too early for the chickens or the horses to stir, but there was a cat now, that came and went, and occasionally deemed him worthy of its company.    
  
So Daryl sat sometimes, and carved paper-thin curls from a chunk of wood. But now when he’d look up there was only ever the cat, scrawny and rust-coloured, staring back. Eventually the block of wood wasn’t a block anymore, and Daryl wasn’t sure what to do with it. The house was too nice to use it for decoration, and Judith was too young to have it for a toy, and Daryl didn’t see the point in making something useless just to keep it for himself.   
  
So he left it outside Jesus’ door one night when he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was a thank-you.   
  
The next day Daryl smoked, and drank stale instant coffee on the front porch, and tried to ignore the exhaustion pushing against the back of his eyes. It didn’t work. They felt rough and heavy in a way that eyes had no right to feel, so Daryl settled for squeezing them shut and pressed his fingers down over them until he saw stars.   
  
He didn’t know how long he'd sat like that, but when he opened them again, Jesus was there next to him. He’d stopped feeling surprised when things like that happened.   
  
“It’s Willow,” Jesus told him.   
  
“What?”    
  
“Willow,” He repeated, smiling brightly. Jesus held his hand up, and revealed little wooden cat in his palm, rough but prim-looking, with its tail wrapped around its paws.   
  
“It ain’t - I think it’s oak…?” Daryl frowned.   
  
“No, that’s just what I call her,” Jesus said with a small laugh. “Because of her fur, and I mean, Tara was the one who found her…”   
  
If anything this only makes him feel more confused. He keeps his mouth shut.   
  
“...It was a show. It’s stupid, never mind,” Jesus laughed again, and something inside Daryl does a little flip. “Thank you.”   
  
“It’s nothing. Ain’t even that good,” Daryl wasn’t embarrassed before, but there’s something so genuine in Jesus’ tone that he suddenly wished he’d been able to make something worthy of his appreciation. Or maybe just taken his coffee to his room this morning - he wasn't good with compliments.   
  
“No, you even got her little snaggletooth, it’s perfect. Thank you.” Jesus said again,  looking down at Daryl’s dumb little carving with a strange, soft expression. “I love it.”   
  
Still unsure what to say to that, Daryl shrugged and took a long pull on his cigarette to buy time. They sat silently for a bit. It was an easy enough silence, and eventually Daryl chanced a glance towards the other man from under the safety of his long bangs. He'd expected to see Jesus looking back, but instead Jesus’ smile had been replaced by the smallest of frowns, his eyes cast out towards the treetops peeking over Alexandria's walls. Daryl’s not quite sure if he's annoyed by something or just lost in thought, but he has the uncanny feeling that he may be the cause of it. Suddenly awkward and self-conscious, he found himself scrambling for something to say.   
  
“Was thinkin'," Daryl began, just as Jesus blurts out  _ ‘Daryl’.  _ Jesus coughs and runs a hand through his loose hair.

 

“Sorry, go on,” he says.

 

“Think I might head out tomorrow,” Daryl murmurs. “see what the fishin’s like. Bass’ll be waking up, soon.”

 

It's not really an invitation, because Daryl has always made a point to never invite Jesus anywhere, but the question is still there. He's not being particularly subtle (to be honest, he's sort of stopped bothering to try) and Jesus flashes him a grin in return.

 

“Need some company?” he asks, and if he forgot to finish whatever it was he'd been about to say before, Daryl doesn't mention it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for reading! Future chapters should be longer than this one - it just felt like an appropriate place to cut. Don't worry, the action will pick up soon as well ;)
> 
> I don't have a beta, so feedback/c&c is life! I think the tenses got screwy here and there... Let me know and I'll pull a stealth edit. I'd also love to hear any ideas you might want to see incorperated. I know where it's all going, but I'm really just having fun with this so please, suggest away!
> 
> Updates should be weekly <3 If you ever feel like chatting or plotting or nerding out my Tumblr is LoveIntheTimeofWalkers - I wanna hear from you!


End file.
